


He thinks

by silvercyanide



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Too much thinking makes Bond a meloncholy boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:38:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercyanide/pseuds/silvercyanide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond does think, despite what some people say, he just much prefers to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He thinks

He thinks, for a vague sort of moment, about the plane ticket and passport that are on the table by the door, both holding a name that is most definitely not his own, and the small suitcase that rests on the floor beside it, filled with underwear and medical supplies and tech because the suits he needs to charm his way into the hearts of his informants always inexplicably show up in his hotel room when he needs them.

(He thinks that MI6 has absolutely no taste in underwear at all. _As if_ he were a man that wore _silk_ boxer shorts. Please, he would rather, and often did, wear nothing at all.)

He thinks, for an even vaguer moment, that he should have stayed dead, somewhere on a beach drinking rum and scotch and tequila with scorpions on his hand and a pretty girl to return to at night or day or whenever he was sober enough to make his way to their shack on his own or whenever the soft-hearted bartender took pity on him and dragged him there to avoid ‘the damn British drunkard’ falling off a stool and dying in a pool of his own blood.

(He thinks that maybe the bartender wasn’t soft-hearted at all, he just wanted to make sure none of his other customers were put off by the bloodstain that would inevitably end up on the floor if he was allowed to stay.)

He thinks, for a moment, on the reason he came back, the picture on the telly of _her_ office going up in smoke, the cold hand that wrapped around his icy heart and _squeezed_ until he couldn’t breathe, a situation that he rarely found himself in and one that he did not enjoy.

(He thinks he should’ve known that she wasn’t dead. The old bitch really was hard to kill. The longest living... well, just the longest living.)

He thinks, finally, because this is not a subject he often dwells on, that there is somewhere he would rather be right now. A dingy little flat that’s cluttered with trinkets and obscure books and _music on vinyl_ for God’s sake, not to mention the computers and the spare parts and the cat hair that belongs to a cat that he’s never seen and is not entirely sure really exists.

(He thinks about the mugs, all twenty-six scrabble mugs, because of course where he wants to be already has a _‘Q’_ , buried in the back of his closet under that _God-awful_ jumper that Miss Moneypenny gave him one night after making a bet with all of the interns in Q-Branch. Everyone, besides himself, had been incredibly drunk and hadn’t realised that they were being swindled out of a large amount of money. He and Miss Moneypenny both made over two thousand pounds for about four seconds of embarrassment on his part.)

He thinks, for a good long time, about the smile he received from his Quartermaster that night, the pure joy that had lit up his Quartermaster’s face when the ridiculous thing had settled around his hips.

(He thinks that there is only one person in the world that he would have let snap a picture of him in that get-up and is fairly sure that that snapshot is in a gilt frame in the bottom draw of his Quartermaster’s desk. He’s also fairly sure that there are multiple digital copies backed up to a personal network but, for that smile, how can he complain?)

He thinks, actually no, to Hell with that.

He _knows_ that there’s somewhere he’d rather be. Knows that there’s a warm body he’d like to curl up next to like an overly-large cat. Just like he knows that he should be sleeping or working out or mentally preparing himself because he’s shipping out on mission tomorrow at nine pm sharp and he needs to be in peak fighting condition. But to Hell with that.

(He thinks that his Quartermaster should look surprised, letting a dripping wet double-o into his bedroom window at three in the morning. He’s not.)

(He thinks that maybe he should’ve waited, explained himself maybe, before kissing his Quartermaster. He’s not gentle, far from it, but his Quartermaster is not breakable, not like his technology.) 

(He thinks he should’ve done this a long time ago.)

(His Quartermaster agrees.)

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a companion piece for Q eventually, hopefully with more scrabble mugs. You can never have too many mugs.


End file.
